


A Death Wish ; Frerard (discontinued)

by gothclaudia666



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22854616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothclaudia666/pseuds/gothclaudia666
Summary: Frank just lost his best friend to a car accident. Gerard lost his dad to lung cancer. When they’re both forced to go to group therapy for grieving, and they’re met with each other, maybe it’s not the therapy getting them through their struggles.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Kudos: 3





	1. Maybe Just Happy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own My Chemical Romance or the people in the book except for my own characters that I add in such as Willow Caraway, Victoria Rein, and Corbin Author. Portray them as you please. 
> 
> Caution: This fan fiction is going to include mentions of cancer, car accidents, death in general, mentions of murder, and drug abuse. Please take this seriously if you are triggered by any of these things, and if you don't take this into consideration, please RECONSIDER!! I don’t want anyone being triggered <3 
> 
> Enjoy and sweep the fucking popcorn on your way out.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank is forced to go to group therapy, and while he’s here, he meets Bert McCracken. His new best friend.

I'd had enough of that fucking day. My mom signed me up for Group Hugs for Grief after I told her I was fine. I was fucking fine!

Okay, no, I wasn't, but she didn't have to know that and neither did other people. It had been a week since Ray, what did she want me to do, just be fucking fine after a week?!

I rolled my eyes after I got out of the car and slammed it behind me. Fuck you sometimes, mom. I sighed and walked up to the door. I opened it slowly and looked around.

There was a sign in the back that said, "Group this way!" with a smiley face. Yeah, fuck off. As I walked, I seen a tall boy with black hair crying, a mom holding a baby next to a door that said "Addiction Group," and a kid maybe about 14 with headphones in blaring what sounded like Nirvana.

I frowned. I took it this was a place for a bunch of different therapy session types and different therapy groups. I pushed the door that said "Group Hugs for Grief" open and looked around. There were tables set up with food and drinks and flyers and in the middle of the small room was a black carpet and about 10 chairs in a circle. I rolled my eyes and went in, dropped my bag, and walked around the very, very small group of around 6 people picking up flyers with cookies in their hand.

This was the place I was going to be grieving because my mom just can't handle it? I sighed, mentally of course, and looked for an m&m cookie and a flyer to see what the program did.

Welcome to Group Hugs for Grief, a community group session for people struggling with death of loved ones and more. It was founded by Corbin Author in 2001 after he lost his wife to an overdose. In this group, we do meditation exercises, talk about the death, give advice, and talk about other things bothering us. Enjoy, and we're happy to help!  
Contact us @  
number: 1-800-984-3690  
email: ghfgrief@gmail.com

I rolled my eyes. Meditation exercises? Yeah, fuck this. Fuck you.

I was zoned out when I heard, "Hello? Are you going to join us?" I jumped and turned with my cookie in my hand to see a man in his early 40s maybe, a beard that reached his chest, circled glasses, and a mean mustache. I raised my eyebrows and nodded. After I threw my cookie away, I walked to the chair left open and sat in the seat to look around.

"I'm Corbin." I heard. I looked at the man. He was the man with the beard. "Hi Corbin." The group said in unison. I bounced my leg up and down, listening to Corbin introduce himself.

"I lost my wife to an overdose on heroin in 2001 and founded this group after some encouragement during a dark time of my life. I'm here to help. Anyone 'wanna talk?"

We all looked around, dumbfounded, until someone raised their hand. A girl in plaid jeans, a F•R•I•E•N•D•S t-shirt and converse. She stood up and looked around. "I'm Victoria. Vic." She mumbled. "Hi Vic." They said. I refused to join. No. I hate it here.

"My, uh, my mom died during a robbery while I was sleeping. It was too late when I woke up to screaming from my little sister. So uh, my dad forced me here, but it's okay. It's uh- it's. Yeah." She forced out, sitting back down. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Vic. We're all here for you. Anyone have anything to add?" Corbin asked out.

I leaned forward, intrigued if anyone had anything to say. "Me." I looked over to the boy with black hair I seen earlier. "My best friend died. And I just wanted to let you know, y'know that gut feeling when you're alone and you're like, man. I'm never going to get to talk to them again. I'm never gonna feel their hugs or hear their voice or be around them. Even see them in person anymore. That sinking feeling? I know how it feels. And it gets better. Your mom died knowing she was loved by you, by how you're talking, I take it you were close. And I'm sure she knew she was loved by others. So just remember that she's watching over you and she's smiling. Religious or not, she's always with you." The boy said in a very fast manner, like he had it rehearsed. He could have been a fucking therapist.

Corbin sat back, probably as taken aback as me and everyone else was. "I'm Bert. My best friend died from a suicide attempt and succeeding." He said. None of us remembered to say 'Hi, Bert.'

He had on these white and black shorts with high top black converse and a black shirt on that said "Maybe Just Happy." He waved and smiled, sitting back down.

He was just—intriguing. And suddenly I wanted to be here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading <3 kudos are appreciated


	2. Comfortably Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After leaving group, Frank deals with his struggles at home.  
> TW: smoking, car accident, implied death

_Okay, just a little pinprick. There'll be no more, ah. But you may feel a little sick. Can you stand up? I do believe it's working good._ **\- Pink Floyd, David Jon Gilmour / Roger Walters**

It was about a week ago that we got into a car accident. — **"Ray! Pass me that!" I giggled. Nothing better than a joint in my opinion. "Here." He mumbled, blowing out the smoke and slurring the lyrics to a song. "Bro, do you see that?" I asked, through smoke filling my lungs and cotton mouth taking over my voice. "N-no." He said. "WATCH THE FUCK OUT MAN!" I screamed. Swerving, spinning, flipping, glass, and sharp pains. "R-ray?" I looked around, blood rushing to my head as my seatbelt gave out and I fell onto the ground. "R-Ray." I cried out, feeling the car ceiling and road pavement under my body, crying at the glass. Blood, blood, blood. "RAY!" I screamed, curling up. The glass in my knees and hands only got deeper as I heard sirens come closer towards us—or just me now.**

I started shaking as Corbin watched me after asking me to speak about what's wrong. I started vomiting all over myself and the floor as a trash can flung towards me. I leaned forward and hurled into it, crying. "I'm sorry, I'm so-" I got up and fell to my knees against the trash can, my head ringing with the thoughts, the fucking thoughts. Ray's head smashed against the wheel, his arms twisted, the ambulance lifting the car and trying to get me out, and having to remove Ray in a different way.

My body wracked with sobs as I felt someone's arms pick me up to my feet and wipe my mouth with a warm wash rag. I opened my eyes, my eyelashes wet, and my cheeks already staining as I felt the wet tears continue to wet multiple places of my face. "You're okay. It's okay, maybe not today, maybe not next week, it'll get easier." I heard. It was the boy with the black hair again, Bert. "Th-thanks." I cried. He handed me a water bottle after he got my face wiped off.

The rest of the group might as well have been nothing. All that I heard was my sniffles, his nothings that were reassuring, and slight moving as people came to a quiet, probably pitying me. I took a drink of the water, but spit it out so I wasn't drinking puke, and then chugged the rest. I wiped my eyes and my nose, and slowly looked up at Bert who was standing over me with a small smile. "Uh- I'm sorry." I muttered.

He shook his head and grabbed my hand, taking me to the bathroom as the group resumed and we were excused. "Don't be sorry, you obviously have PTSD." Bert muttered, lifting off my hoodie and grabbing a couple napkins out of the dispenser. He wet it and handed it to me, so I could wipe the puke off of my face. My shirt was luckily untouched, and I was relieved because I wouldn't have to tell my mom about the whole ordeal. "If you don't mind me asking, wh-what happened, Frank?" Bert asked. I looked at him, my lip quivering. But I felt safe.

So I ended up telling him, tears rolling down my face, but I didn't notice until he was wiping them off for me. "It was my best friend. I was there, I se-seen him like that. And I just laid there, helplessly trapped. A bad car accident. We were smoking—we were high." I muttered. He took me into a hug, "I'm so sorry, Frank. I'm always here. You don't deserve that trauma, I can tell you're an amazing person by talking to you and you're being dragged down. But it'll get better. Something will happen soon and it'll be life changing and you're going to be happier. I promise."

Bert was like a fucking therapist, I mean I'm surprised he isn't one. If he was a therapist, I would sick dick to have him as mine.

"I would suck dick to have you as my therapist if you were one." I blurted out. Bert started laughing and my cheeks reddened as I started laughing along with him. "Thank you?" He wiped his eyes and helped me off of the sink. "Anytime." I grinned. He rolled his eyes and grabbed my hand. "Uh here's my number. I can tell we're 'gonna be great friends!!" Bert beamed.

I smiled and took the piece of paper after Bert scribbled his number onto it. We walked back to the group room which was now empty. "Oh, I guess group is over." Bert looked at his phone, scratching his head and giggling. I smiled and nodded, walking outside. "I was about to come in there looking for you!" Linda, my mom, exclaimed. She looked at me, to Bert, back to me. "Did you make a friend?" She mouthed. I nodded, smiling, and Bert laughed. "I'm Bert. Nice to 'meetcha." He held out his hand. Mom smiled and took his hand to shake it, but soon pulled back as Bert did and smiled at me even wider. "Well, it was nice meeting you today, Frank. Text me and we can talk about Misfits." Bert pointed at my shirt and turned around, walking off.

I smiled at Bert who was walking away, waving, and then looked back to my mom. "He seems nice." My mom mused. I nodded, "He's like a little therapist. And he's funny." We got into the car and started home. It was a silent drive. Although something good, Bert, came out of this group, I was pissed off that I had to go to group cause my mom couldn't handle my crying. We got out of the car and I ran to my room where I got into bed and texted Bert.

"hey, it's frank. what's ur favorite misfits song?"

"definitely dont open til doomsday. you?"

"omg taste. my favorite is descending angel."

"any other bands?"

"nirvana, pixies, black sabbath, etc.."

"you'd love my friend gerard. i'm bringing him to group tomorrow if you're gonna be there, he just had a loss :("

"i'd love to meet him."

I turned on my playlist to hear "Floyd the Barber" start playing. As I turned off my phone and closed my eyes all I could hear was the swerving of the car. The fucking car. God, the car, Ray, the pain. I can't breathe.

I opened my eyes, clutching my chest as if to calm down my pounding heart and looked around my room to my alarm clock. 3:27 am. I can barely take it. My body wracked with sobs as my mom came into my room. "Frankie?" She asked. "I'm sorry for waking you- I can't." I shook. "Honey." She whispered and came over, wrapping her arms around me. I buried my head into her shoulder and took advantage of the hug. "This is too much." I said quietly. She nodded and caressed my hair. "I'm here, Frankie. I'm your mother, I'm always here." She muttered. I nodded, my heart fluttering. I looked at her and took her into a hug before she left my room.

I got up and pulled a converse shoebox out from underneath my bed and opened my window, sitting on the chair that was right next to my window. I grabbed the water-bottle that I turned into a make shift pipe and pulled apart the bud of weed I had in my bag. I looked to make sure my mom locked it back when she left and thank fuck she did because I didn't feel like getting up and moving across my room so that neither of them walked in.

My lighter was white, and it had a pot leaf on it with a couple band logos. Sighing, I lifted the bottle to my mouth and lit the small amount of weed, watching the smoke fill the bottle as I sucked it in. "Fuck." I muttered as I tried not to cough to much, the burn filling my throat and the dryness already taking over my mouth. I didn't feel a high after a minute of 3 hits, so I continued smoking my lungs out.

The technique of the bottle: You get a water bottle, weed, a pen, and a lighter. Dump or drink the water, rip the plastic off of the bottle, and then start to heat up the side of the water bottle where you wanna poke the hole you'll be putting your mouth to. Then you poke the hole, and then do the same to the cap of the water bottle. You pack your small amount of weed into the very small hole you put in the cap, place your mouth to the hole into the side, and light up. That's how I always did it anyways.

Soon I felt my eyes droop and I sighed as I cashed the makeshift pipe and put everything back. I laid back into bed and curled up, smiling at how launched I was. And everything was calm. I needed music and this would be perfect.

Whining to myself, I got up and walked over to my record player where I pulled out In Utero by Nirvana and placed it on the player, starting up the album.

I practically swayed myself back into bed, holding onto a pillow and drifting back off to sleep. And this time there was no dream of Ray—not a bad one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading ! kudos are very appreciated <3


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